Sentiment
by kikyohater920alltheway
Summary: How Molly and John deal with their grief over Sherlock's death, and the madness that ensues upon his return. Sherlolly. (Originally just a one-shot, now a three part story). My own take on what happened after Sherlock's jump. R&R.
1. Molly Hooper

This is purely just a rambling. I know there are many of these scenarios out there, but I wanted to have a go. Tell me what you think. I tried to have Sherlock be spot on, but he's a tough character to write about. Anyhow, let me know!

-Kh920

Disclaimer: Sherlock isn't mine. (Damn).

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He didn't understand how it had happened. He supposed their grief brought them together, into each other's arms. Or so he deduced. After the jump, he had intended to leave right away. Moriarty still had accomplices. He needed to find them before John or anyone he cared about got hurt. And yet, here he was, in Molly Hooper's home, her body crushed against his in a tight embrace.

"Sherlock" she breathed. "Oh Sherlock…" she wrapped her arms around his middle tightly, silent sobs making her body tremble.

She had missed him. It had only been 48 hours since he jumped, and yet she thought that she might burst with all the grief in her heart. She knew he was alive, but seeing John sob so openly at losing his best friend had truly broken her.

Meanwhile, Sherlock's mind took in Molly. She was dishevelled, hair a mess, her clothes rumpled. Judging by the grease in her hair she hadn't bothered to shower. Evidently she hadn't moved much all day. The house was clean, everything in its proper place except for the wine glass and that sat empty on the coffee table.

_Grieving. _Sherlock thought. He hugged her closer and wondered why he had come. Was it for this human connection? Or was it just because he needed her specifically? Sighing, he led her over to the couch. They sat down together. Their hands were intertwined, he noticed. He didn't dislike this.

She sucked in a breath as they sat down. He being here made Molly Hooper finally realize she mattered. _She mattered._ She was still shocked by his confession. This important, wonderful, fantastic information had her pulse racing, her body trembling. And he was holding her hand! Dear god, he was here in this room. Here with her. Why?

"Sherlock. Why are you here?" she murmured.

His eyes were downcast, his expression blank. Molly waited, painfully aware she hadn't showered. She also didn't have any lipstick on. She recalled how once, a couple years ago, he had told Molly her lips were too small. Her lips twitched. How things had changed. She felt more connected to him than ever.

She noticed his hands were absentmindedly tracing circles along her own hands. Her heart lurched quite suddenly.

"I…I wanted a connection" he said finally. He continued to trace circles into her hands, taking note of her elevated pulse. Molly let him collect his thoughts, although she was dying to know what he meant. After an extremely long pause, he opened his mouth to speak again. Molly waited with baited breath. The tension in the room was suffocating.

"I wanted to feel something once more, before I'm gone for a long time" he muttered. He looked at her then, intensely studying her face. "Molly Hooper, I wanted….you"

He seemed puzzled by his own observation, like he still couldn't quite grasp what he meant or what it was he was even feeling. Shifting uncomfortably, he suddenly let go of her hands and got up, pacing.

"Sentiment" he muttered. "Sentiment, damnit all!"

"Sherlock?" she mumbled stupidly, dazed. "Sentiment?"

"Yes, Molly Hooper, sentiment. I did not intend to visit your apartment uninvited after my "death" and yet here I am. I do not know why, I cannot explain it," he growled frustratingly, pacing fast, his jacket snapping back and forth about his ankles.

"SENTIMENT!" he yelled, causing Molly to jump. She stared at him, wide eyed, finally realizing what he meant. She was shocked. Sherlock Holmes, so calculated, so careful, was here in her home, unable to contain his feelings. Sherlock Holmes felt something for her, Molly Hooper. She didn't just matter, she was the most important. It frightened and excited her to no end.

Feeling a surge of confidence she never knew she had, Molly got up and walked over to Sherlock, who (still pacing) was consumed in his own racing thoughts. She stepped in front of him mid-stride, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"Molly-"he started, annoyed, but she cut him off with a sudden kiss.

By all means, it wasn't amazing….at first.

He obviously had no experience kissing whatsoever. His mouth awkwardly moved against hers, but his eyes were closed while Molly's were not and _oh- _he was enjoying it, and it was wonderful. Gently, with a bout of courage, she parted his lips and, guiding his mouth with her own, slipped her tongue in his mouth, tasting. He groaned, and her body was fire. She roughly grabbed his hair and pulled him closer, needing him, all her love for him poured out of her and into her kisses.

He attacked her mouth, biting her lower lip. Lovingly, he moved his mouth to her chin, trailing kisses to her cheek bones, and her eyelids, cradling her head in his hands, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Slowly, he began to trace his hands over her body. Awkwardly at first, then more confidently, gliding his hands over her neck, tracing his fingers along her spine and finally, cupping her breasts, lingering there, caressing. She shivered and groaned. Unsurprisingly, her knees gave away. Swiftly, anticipating her fall, he scooped her up and greedily put his mouth on hers again.

This feeling was entirely new to Sherlock. What did he need of… of compassion such as this? And yet Molly Hooper's wonderful charm had finally caught up to him, turning him into someone he simply couldn't fathom. He'd spend this night with her. He needed to.

Tomorrow he would be gone. But he wouldn't think about it now. Tonight he'd be able to feel, if only for a little while.

"You move me Molly Hooper" he growled between kisses. "You move me"

As he walked up the stairs to her room, still holding her tight, she murmured, "sentiment"

They spent the rest of the night getting to know each other better, making love, crying (well, she cried) and breathing each other in.

In the morning he was gone.

He didn't come back for a year and a half.

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I was thinking of doing a chapter two with John. What do you think? Again, I know it's been done but I wanted to try my own hand at it

Read&Review.


	2. John Watson

I know it was recommended to me not to continue this story in John's point of view, but I decided to make this a three part story. The third chapter will add everything together.

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews it's nice to know when your writing is appreciated. As always, read and review, and give me your opinions if you have any!

-KH920

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John felt cold. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he knew he'd catch the sniffles at some point in the future. This chilly death would be the end of him, yes it would.

He'd go home after this and have a cuppa, he thought. That would warm him up.

He stood stiffly, his shoulders straight. His back ached horribly and his shoes were leaking, but John thought he could live with this. This wasn't so bad.

He'd go home and have a cuppa, he'd go home and have a cuppa….

Someone tugged on his arm. Distantly, he heard sobbing. The sound was faint, getting louder every second, like a fast moving train going through a tunnel, its noise getting louder and louder. John suddenly became aware the he was surrounded by people, all in black. Some were crying. Others were sombre.

John wondered faintly why they were all here. He looked to his right and saw Mrs. Hudson, desperately clinging to him and crying loudly, and wondered why.

_I'll go home and get warm,_ he thought, _have a cup of tea…_

But whatever meagre distractions he kept thinking about, John Watson was inevitably becoming aware of his surroundings. He just didn't want to realize it.

Mourners. Mourning that arrogant twat, though god knows why he should be mourned. He was always criticising others, always going on about people's flaws, like they could be easily fixed. Always… always doing his best to show how incredibly smart and sophisticated he was…

_Sherlock. _

The name caused his chest to experience a ripping sensation, as if his heart were being ferociously torn apart.

His best friend was dead.

_D.E.A.D_ his mind mocked. Dead and gone, buried in the cold, dark ground…

He caught eyes with Molly Hooper who looked down quickly at his glance. She was across from him, on the other side of the coffin. She looked gray faced, ashen… the rims of her eyes were obviously red from crying but her eyes looked dry. John was confused. Why wasn't she trying to crawl into that coffin with him? She worshipped Sherlock, loved him with all her heart. Why wasn't she trying to rip that coffin open? He could see her asking the priest politely if they could be buried together.

John suppressed hysteric laughter. What was wrong with him?

_Sherlock_, he thought, _you're dead. Don't be dead…_

Suddenly his throat felt tight. He tried to remain straight faced. He hadn't cried since… since he realized he was gone. He wouldn't now. There was no use in crying after all, Sherlock would say. No use in it, it accomplishes nothing…

Molly Hooper was staring at him, biting her lip. John ignored her. Mrs. Hudson's sobs had turned into quiet sniffles. The priest stopped speaking, the coffin was lowered and people started walking away. Back towards their lives.

But where would John go? He'd go back to 221B Baker Street, where he lived, but his best friend wouldn't be there.

The thought of being alone in a room that was once filled with such energy all the time made his heart sink.

"Ah… Mrs. Hudson," he started, gently prying her fingers off his arm. "I'm…not coming home just yet I- I have to run some errands". He finished lamely. Mrs. Hudson patted his arm affectionately, her eyes swollen and blotchy. "It's okay dear, just come home safe", she said hoarsely.

John nodded and slowly started walking away from the grave.

He was aware of Molly Hooper's eyes on his back the whole time.

That night, he got horrifically drunk alone in the local pub. He reminded himself of his lovely sister. He wondered darkly if she would laugh at him.

What would Sherlock say right now? John expected him to stride confidently in the pub at this very moment. The door would burst open and he'd strut in, spot John and swiftly join him at the table, firing off comments about the pubs tackiness to the bartender as he went.

After hours in the pub, drinking and ignoring everyone's attempts at conversation, John tripped and stumbled his way home. When he walked in the door he must have been quite loud because Mrs. Hudson came out and helped him up the stairs.

"It's okay dear," she soothed, "it's quite alright John"

He realized he was crying, and loudly. _Shut up, just shut up_, he kept thinking. What would Sherlock think about his behaviour?

Once inside the flat, Mrs. Hudson helped him into bed put some water on his nightstand. After she had shut his door, John mumbled,

"What do you care anyway, you're dead"

And, feeling miserable, he fell into an uneasy sleep. As he was dozing, he could have sworn he heard someone calling him a moron.

But of course, he dreamed up that part.

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Again, appreciate all your reviews.

Last Chapter soon!

-KH920


	3. Molly and Sherlock and John, Oh my!

Hello! Sorry for the long chapter wait, my laptop died on me and I needed to get a new one. This will be the last chapter to this series, unfortunately. I hope you all enjoyed my work, and again, reviews are appreciated!

-KH920

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Molly was nervous. No, nervous was an understatement. Nervous was manageable. What she was, was terrified. They walked up to 221B Baker Street with what seemed like agonizingly slow steps. Sherlock walked with a sort of twitchy excitement she wasn't used to seeing from him. He had a huge, cat-like grin on his face, which meant he was either genuinely happy or plotting something evil. How he wasn't just as nervous as Molly was a mystery to her.

"Sherlock, aren't you- nervous at all? It's been a long time since you've seen John, and well, things have changed… plus, he still doesn't know you're alive".

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Molly, John will be fine. Things have changed for the better, he'll realize that. Moriarty's little spiders are gone, the web has vanished and I can get on with what I do best" he replied.

Sherlock's ease only made Molly more nervous.

_He has no idea the damage he's caused everyone _Molly thought_. John was devastated…_

Hell, Molly had been devastated and she had known Sherlock was alive. After he had left, after that wonderful, totally unorthodox night…. Well, she had cried almost every day for months. And then she was numb. Not knowing when she'd see his face again, or whether he was alive, was the hardest thing Molly had ever faced.

She woke up thinking about him, and continued to think about him through the day and into her nights, where she'd promptly drink some wine alone, cry a little (just a little) and go to sleep. She wasn't sure how much more she could take. She couldn't talk to anyone about it, Sherlock had been adamant about that.

But John…. Molly had never seen John so _depressed. _He'd spend hours in her apartment, as often as was acceptable for two friends, always reluctant to go back to 221B. The first few months after Sherlock's 'death' John refused to even set foot in the flat. The place was 'too Sherlock' he had said, and without Sherlock he didn't belong. It took a lot of therapy for John to eventually start sleeping there again, and once he had met Mary he had begun to heal, albeit slowly. Molly was grateful, she was terrified Sherlock would come back one day and find John sleeping on her couch.

After a long, long_, long_ time though, she had come home from work one day and found Sherlock sleeping on her bed, back from wherever he had been travelling and looking absolutely awful.

A lump formed in her throat thinking about it. He had looked so frail, like he hadn't had a hot meal in months. His hair was long and scraggly, and it seemed he hadn't shaved in a lifetime. God, but she had never been so happy to see him, alive and relatively well.

Their reunion was nothing short of romantic but she couldn't complain. She'd left him to sleep and when he woke up and came downstairs the next day he'd greeted her with an "ah, Molly…. I'm back. Coffee please, if you would".

And after much resting and talking on Sherlock's part and much kissing and crying on Molly's, they felt they were ready to see John.

"…Molly?"

"Hmmm?" She heard herself hum as eyes went back into focus. She hadn't realized how lost in her thoughts she'd become. They had reached the front door of 221B Baker Street. Her stomach started doing summersaults.

There was a long pause. Sherlock's jitters had left him suddenly and he looked eerily calm and composed. He adjusted his coat and scarf promptly before turning to face Molly.

"Relax, your left eye is twitching" he said. She nodded and smiled up at him reassuringly. After a moment, he smiled back and lifted her hand up to his lips, kissing it softly. Her heart did a dance inside her chest. She was happy he felt this comfortable with her now. Such a small gesture meant the world.

Then the moment was over and he opened the door.

Sherlock's thoughts were unusually scattered. He knew that upon finding his best friend alive, John would either faint, or punch him in the face. Odds are it'd be physical, John did have a bit of a temper and after all, his friend was back from the grave and on his doorstep. He climbed up the stairs to their front door, Molly trailing behind nervously.

He didn't understand why SHE was the nervous one. Her hands were shaking and she kept glancing at her shoes. As they reached the landing, Sherlock stopped, and after a deep breath, he knocked on his and John's door. He could hear the TV playing faintly on the other side.

There was a long silence.

Sherlock knocked again, louder this time. After a moment he heard someone call "just a moment!"

"I shouldn't even have to knock" Sherlock muttered darkly. "It's my house".

Molly sighed. The tension could be sliced down the middle with a knife. John still hadn't answered the door and Sherlock's nerves were building up inside him, he could feel the slight tremor in his hands getting worse. He couldn't handle it. Was it excitement at seeing his friend again? Or fear for how he would react?

"This is nonsense, I'm going in" he growled. He grabbed the door handle and pulled, at the same moment John arrived at the door and pulled on the other side. The door remained firmly shut. Sherlock was muttering obscenities under his breath, but the other side of the door was suddenly dead silent. Molly gulped. Sherlock grabbed the door handle once more and pulled. The door opened and there was John, hastily dressed on the other side, an expression of absolute shock frozen on his face.

Sherlock froze too. John looked-_older_. His face had a few more stress lines on it, his hair was slightly grayer. And yet, for all the stress that was on his face, signs of recent laughter and happiness seemed to emanate off of him. He had laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, and though he was hastily dressed, his clothes were clean and professional looking, as if he had just been at an important job.

He also had lipstick on his neck. Suddenly the hastiness of his redressing was made clear. John was not alone. There were signs of a woman's touch all throughout the house that Sherlock could see, that he catalogued. Female sandals by the front door, new wallpaper on the walls, the smell of floral perfume coming off of John.

Time seemed to have stood still. Then a sudden anger flashed over John's face, an anger so ugly Sherlock instinctively stepped back.

John clenched his fingers, his lip curling in pure rage.

"John-"Sherlock started but he knew it was coming and he inwardly cringed. John's fist connected with his jaw and he fell, crashing into Molly as he did so. Molly shrieked and fell too, nearly down the stairs.

"BASTARD!" he heard and the next thing he knew he was being punched repeatedly in the mouth, in the chest and ribs. He needed to react fast before his ribs cracked.

"JOHN. JOHN LET ME EXPLAIN, GET OFF!"

"JOHN" he heard Molly shriek. "JOHN, STOP!"

Another woman came running from the doorway, pulling John off of Sherlock and screaming for John to compose himself before the cops were called. _That's just what I need, Lestrade on my doorstep and punching me too_, Sherlock thought.

John stopped then, and looking at Sherlock angrily, he cried,

"A YEAR! Over a fucking year I've been thinking that my best fucking friend was dead, and you're NOT. SHERLOCK, what the HELL is going on. I saw you fall Sherlock. I saw you. I felt your pulse…"

Sherlock got up shakily and helped Molly up. She looked terrible, her forehead was bleeding where his head had connected with hers as he was falling. Tears were in the corner of her eyes but she was looking at Sherlock in horror, no doubt because his mouth was bleeding profusely and his eye had begun to swell. He could also tell he had at least two cracked ribs. Had John been working out?

"Are you all right?" he asked her softly, wiping the blood off of her forehead. She nodded and he turned to face John, who was looking at Sherlock with hurt and rage. He seemed ready to punch the living shit out of him again, so Sherlock quickly begun to speak.

"Can we go inside please? I need to clean up and explain some things". Sherlock glanced at John's lady friend and grinned at her reassuringly but she looked horrified so he quickly stopped. Blood was streaming down his chin and he probably looked like a maniac, which explained her horror. Regardless, she looked at Molly and smiled hesitantly.

"Sorry about that, Molly. Come inside, both of you".

"Thank you Mary".

Sherlock glanced sideways at Molly as they walked in the front door, awkwardly passing John, who was glaring at him. As they entered the flat John sat down in his chair and shakily and put his head in his hands, while Mary went into the kitchen to brew up some tea and get Sherlock some ice. Sherlock sat on the couch with Molly, wincing as the pain in his ribs slowly became worse.

"John-"he started,

"If I look at you I'm going to murder you so please give me a moment", came the gruff reply.

"John" he said, ignoring his friends comment. "John, I did what I had to do, so you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson could be safe, so that none of you would be murdered. You had guns on you John, Moriarty was going to assassinate all three of you if I didn't jump. Moriarty killed himself before that, but if I didn't jump you still would have been murdered, and I would have had to deal with that for the rest of my life. Afterwards, it was necessary to go and make sure Moriarty's links and friends were all snuffed out, John, or I couldn't ever return and expect you all to be safe again. I stayed with Molly after the fall and then left for America, where I knew some of his connections were. I've been abroad ever since, and just got back a week ago".

By this time Mary had come back in with tea. "Thank you Mary", murmured Molly. She handed Sherlock his ice and sat in the arm of John's chair, resting her hands on his shoulders.

John was furious, and confused. He groaned and looked at Sherlock. His eye was swollen and so was his lip. By the way he was clutching his ribs they were either cracked or broken. Oddly, he wasn't that sorry.

"You should have told me- you should have let me in on the plan!"

"And risk Moriarty finding out and killing you?" Sherlock snapped. "The possibility of him doing that was extremely likely, he had eyes and ears everywhere. I only told Molly because I made sure he knew that Molly was not a concern, not a factor".

Molly cringed. John noticed the cut on her forehead. Guilt slithered through his belly.

There was a long silence. Mary rubbed John's shoulders.

"Shall you two talk it out a little?" she said. John looked at her quickly, silently begging her not to go. She smiled at him softly and beckoned Molly into the kitchen. Sherlock touched her cheek before she got up and joined Mary. John noticed immediately raised an eyebrow.

"So- you and Molly?"

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. "What of it?"

John's lips twitched. He couldn't believe this, couldn't believe he was talking to someone he thought he'd never speak to again. It was surreal.

"I never thought this would happen again" he said. "I- I talked to you a thousand times in my head but- but I never thought for a moment you could still be alive. I felt for your pulse, Sherlock, and there was none".

"Molly's work" Sherlock said. "You were disoriented too so that helps. I made sure the man on the bike crashed into you at the right time, so you would be groggy when you examined my body".

A flicker of betrayal went through John. Molly had known Sherlock was alive and didn't say anything. The knowledge stung. He recalled the funeral, how she was oddly calm. It made sense now.

"So- are you back now? For good?" He asked gruffly.

There was a brief hesitation, then Sherlock nodded. Relief flooded through John like a tidal wave. Unexpected tears stung his eyes and he wiped them away quickly. His best friend was here to stay, and he was _alive_. John held out his hand to Sherlock. A silent promise.

After a moment, Sherlock reached out and grasped John's hand firmly. Their handshake somehow turned into an awkward hug. Sherlock patted John's back clumsily, wincing at his ribs.

They sat down again.

While Sherlock began telling John about his time abroad, the girls walked back into the living room. Molly had a band-aid on her head.

"Everything all patched?" she smiled.

"You mean other than the fact that I'll need to go to the hospital at some point tonight to fix my ribs?" quipped Sherlock.

"I'm sorry about your head, Molly" John said sincerely. "I wasn't thinking".

And despite the fact that there were still so many questions that needed answering, John had never felt so content in his life. They all talked for hours. Mrs. Hudson came to meet John at some point, and SHE fainted at the sight of Sherlock. Go figure.

Everything seemed like it was going to be all right… for now, anyway.

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That's the end of it! I gave it a happy ending, I hope it won't be too cliché. Read and Review!


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